


Solar Eclipse

by Kipsels



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But mostly resembled Silver Snow/ Verdant Wind, Byleth does not understand politics, Cultural Differences, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Follows no particular route, Not Beta Read, Political Alliances, Political Marriages, Rebuilding a Nation, Scheming, Tactical Thinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-01-24 20:43:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21344434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kipsels/pseuds/Kipsels
Summary: A war is fought. A war is won.A new nation rises from the ashes.But a boy prince from another land never came to Fodlan, and his schemes have yet to be put into motion."Your people refer to you as a Goddess. I don't believe in Gods."
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 81
Kudos: 337





	1. An Almyran Audience

Byleth turned the card over in her hands. It was a simple card, adorned with an elaborate pattern around the edge, pressed in with gold leaf. At the centre, a message written in impeccable handwriting.

_ The Crown Prince of Almyra formally requests an audience with the newly crowned Queen of Fodlan. _

Short and sweet, if a little unexpected. While she had expected to make eventual communications with the east, the dust of war had barely settled and there had been other tasks of greater importance to attend to. Byleth barely had a handle of governing Fodlan, as she had discovered the ruthlessness that made her a grand leader on the battlefield had little place in the delicacy of politics. Lorenz and Ferdinand had helped where they could, but they had their own lands to attend to during this important period of redevelopment, leaving Byleth to often consult with Seteth on her own shortcomings. 

The burdens piling up were already starting to feel like they were going to tip over, but now having to navigate this as well...

"Well? What are you thinking?" Hilda asked, sitting across from her, her legs crossed primly.

"I'm thinking it's awfully convenient for them to pick now to visit," Byleth admitted with a sigh. She placed the card down flat on her desk and brought her hand up to her face, hoping to wipe away the exhaustion that was settling in.

"True, but there  _ have _ been fewer skirmishes at the border lately," Hilda leaned back, looking thoughtful, "My brother wasn't ready to let the Almyran guard pass the border and deliver the message themselves, but he's not totally against the idea. The final decision comes down to you, of course."

All decisions came down to her these days. It was exhausting.

“I suppose this is as good an opportunity as any to put the past behind us, isn’t it?” Byleth huffed as she pulled a piece of blank parchment towards her and began to write her response. 

While Jeralt had taught her how to read and write, it became painfully obvious that her upbringing had not been of the well-to-do kind when one looked upon her scribing. Her handwriting  _ was  _ readable, but it lacked the loping eloquence of Ferdinand’s or the pious elegance of Mercedes. Her letters were broken and flat, straight and to the point, much like her. 

Hardly fitting for a ruler, but it would have to do.

The letter written, she folded the paper and slipped it into an envelope, sealing it with a wax embossing of Fodlan’s new flag. She reached over to hand it to Hilda.

“Tell your brother that I’ve given temporary approval for the Almyrans to cross the border and that we will host the Prince for the month of the Horsebow Moon. The weather should be amenable for their travel,” She explained.

Her old student plucked the letter from her fingers and winked at her before she stood to leave, “Leave it to me, professor.”

Before she left, Byleth stood and called out to her one last time. She spun on the spot, a curious look on her face as she waited.

“Thanks for coming to visit, Hilda. It… It gets pretty lonely here sometimes.”

Hilda smiled sympathetically, “You know you’re always welcome at The Locket, you know. If you ever feel like getting away from it all. We’ve got some really nice hot springs you should visit. One dip and all your worries melt away.”

“That sounds really nice,” She closed her eyes and imagined it for a moment. It was a shame that the thought would likely stay a pipe dream for a while yet.

“Well, I better be heading off before it gets dark. I wish I could stay longer but I’ll need to get back by tomorrow to pass this on,” She gestured at the letter between her fingers.

Byleth smiled and waved her off.

“And I’m serious about the holiday if you need it!” She called out as she left.

Byleth laughed as she sat back into her chair. 

So they would welcome the Prince of Almyra to their fledgling country, and hopefully, it would be the beginning of a brighter future. Fostering a relationship with their eastern neighbour could help with trade routes and bolster the economy through its post-war redevelopment, and perhaps they would have a future ally in Almyra should they need it.

For now, there were other more important things to attend to, like the growing pile of documents on her desk.

Byleth sighed and brought her fingers up to her throbbing temples. As Seteth liked to remind her, the work was never truly over.

. . . .

A week later, another letter was delivered to her. The page was not as decorated as the initial calling card, but the message spoke far more than any embossing could.

_ Your Majesty, _

_ It brings me endless joy to know that you have accepted my request for an audience with your esteemed person. There is much I would like to discuss with you. _

_ I am anxiously awaiting the moment that we will meet in person. _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Claude _

_ Crown Prince of Almyra _

The page smelled faintly of pine and of spices she couldn’t identify, but it was the bottom of the letter that kept drawing Byleth’s eye.

Claude.

Not exactly the most Almyran name she had ever heard, she thought to herself when she had first read it. Perhaps it was simply a translation, or was it a deception of some kind? He did appear to err on the side of being a little too affectionate, considering they wouldn’t know each other from a bar of soap if they met in the streets. Whatever the case, it would be a while yet before she would be able to solve this little puzzle.

One of her attendants knocked on the door to her chambers and their head peeked around the corner.

“Your Majesty? The merchants guild are here to discuss the new trade routes,” He said softly, looking to the floor.

Byleth placed the letter back into the drawer she had pulled it from and stood. For now, there was business to attend to.

. . . .

Byleth stared down at the papers in front of her. Numerous accounts and reports of disturbances along the coastline, stretching from the point of Fodlan’s Fangs to the Rhodos Coast. She could have written off the first account as an unfortunate attack by pirates, but as the numbers began to start piling up it was obvious that a pattern was forming. 

“What do you propose we do, Your Majesty?” Seteth asked, standing on the other side of her grand desk. He was as austere and steadfast as ever, but even Byleth could see the weariness that showed in the shadows under his eyes. 

“Have our wyvern battalions increase their patrols over coastal weak points,” She sighed, her fingers spreading the sheets out, “That’s all we can do for now.”

“Of course. I will let Alois know that we will need to pull more knights from the relief efforts for the patrols,” He nodded, though he remained in his position. 

The air felt stale as Byleth turned to the third occupant of the room. Despite having reneged on her position in the Knights of Seiros, she was the closest thing Byleth had to an insider on the situation.

“How likely are we to face a planned attack?” She asked her.

“From a strategic viewpoint, now is the perfect opportunity to exact revenge. These little coastal skirmishes are just them testing the waters,” Shamir responded, her arms crossed over her arms and she brushed off the look directed towards her from Seteth.

“The empire is gone, and with it are the people they wished to seek revenge from,” Seteth frowned.

“Dagda isn’t Duscur, Seteth. Adrestia crippled Dagda, and that’s not something that’s forgotten so easily,” Shamir shrugged, “It doesn’t matter if the empire has already crumbled. As far as most Dagdan’s are concerned, Fodlan is Fodlan, regardless of who is in power.”

Byleth began to stack the papers, ready to file them away with the prior reports. Part of her couldn’t believe that they could be facing another potential war so soon, but another part of her knew this was simply the reality of governance. She passed the reports over to Seteth, who took them and folded them under the arm of his robes.

“Thank you for coming, Shamir,” Byleth said as she stood straight and moved to leave the room with her companions, “You weren’t easy to track down, so I am glad you came.”

The older woman turned a curious eye her way, yet she remained as aloof as ever as she conceded, “I probably owe you for saving my life more times than I would care to count. I might not be your soldier to command any more, but it is a debt that I will repay if you have need of me.”

“Hopefully, it does not come to that,” Seteth dismissed as he headed towards the Knight Captain’s office, ready to deliver the updated directives. When he disappeared around the corner, it was followed by a loud guffawing laugh that could only be Alois and a not so discreetly covered sigh from Seteth.

Byleth turned to Shamir as they came to stand at the stairs, “How long will you be staying?”

“Here? Not long.”

“And in Fodlan?”

Shamir’s sharp eyes narrowed as she looked at her and Byleth felt thoroughly interrogated by her gaze, but her eyes softened as she began to step down, “I’m not going to run off to Dagda or anywhere else any time soon if you have need of me. I’m sure you’ll be able to find me again if that’s the case.”

Byleth reached out and grasped her sleeve, stopping her descent and earning her another glare, “If you’re heading south, could you pass a message to Ferdinand? I will need to inform him of the changes happening and I think I will need to request a meeting with him soon.”

“Surely you could send him a letter?”

“Yes, I could,” Byleth frowned, “But I would appreciate it if you could tell him for me. It’s safer that way.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Shamir,” She let go of her sleeve, and the woman was off without another word. 

  
  


. . . .

  
  


"Cyril, could you tell me more about Almyra?"

Byleth had just received another missive from The Locket, delivered alongside a perfumed letter from Hilda, requesting any updates on the procedure for the impending arrival of the Almyran’s at the border. She’d been in the middle of writing a reply when she'd been quickly distracted by the rain pattering against the windows of her office, realising just how quickly the weeks were passing.

Before she would even know it, the Almyran procession would arrive, and Byleth wished to be as prepared for it as possible. Unfortunately, Fodlan's insular history meant none of her ex-students or any of the knights knew any more than the petty tales they had been told about the people.

Which left Cyril.

“I dunno, there’s not much to say about it,” He responded with a shrug, but his amber eyes were guarded as he looked at her from over the hay bales he’d been stacking.

"The Prince of Almyra is visiting in a month's time," Byleth tried gently, "I just wanted to know if there was any… cultural differences I should be aware of."

The young man shrugged again and turned back to his work, "Yeah, I heard Seteth talking about it, but I was an orphan, you know that. Anything I tell ya probably doesn't have much relevance to how the nobles do it."

"That's okay, Cyril. If anyone had asked me about Fodlan’s nobility before everything happened, I don’t think I’d have much to say either.”

Byleth watched as Cyril continued to pile the bales for the horses under the cover of the stables and away from the rain outside. Even now, as Cyril dedicated himself to his studies for eventual knighthood, his unerring work ethic meant that he did far more than anyone ever asked from him. She was simply content to watch him, knowing that if she tried to help she’d only earn herself a glare and a slap on the hand if he was feeling particularly prickly today. 

“They’re...colourful, I guess.”

“What?”

“The nobles in Almyra. They dress in expensive clothes that sparkle as much as their jewellery. They would fight each other for the fun of it and then they like to throw big parties with feasts. We used to go through the food they threw out the next day,” Cyril set down the last bale and came to stand beside her, yet he refused to look at her.

"Almyra’s king, the Shah, didn’t seem to care much about us war orphans. So I lied about my age and joined the army because it meant I’d have food to eat and a place to stay," He said as he toed the dirt beneath his foot, “They don’t know what it’s like to be a little person, but it’s not all that different from the nobles here. I just got lucky that Lady Rhea cared so much.”

Finally, he turned and looked at her, his expression grim but still open, "But I guess if you can be friends with him then maybe all the fighting will stop, and if the fighting stops there won't be any new war orphans."

“The Shah isn’t visiting, he’s sending his son, the prince instead,” Byleth pointed out.

Cyril shrugged again, “Just another rich kid who can’t see what's beyond the borders of his own castle. But you changed the rest of ‘em, so why can’t you just do it again?”

She felt her lips pull into a smile as she considered the simplicity of Cyril’s statement. It was one thing to teach people another point of view when she was their professor, and then to go through a war with him, but to try and push new ideals on someone she had never met would be near impossible.

In the end, though, as much as she wished she could do that for the children like Cyril in Almyra, there were orphans created by the war in Fodlan that she had to consider first.

“I’ll see what I can do,” She said as she patted his shoulder, “And thank you for telling me, Cyril. Any little bit of information helps.”

“Aw, it’s nuthin, prof- I mean, Your Majesty.”

. . . .

As the pages in the calendar turned to the new moon, the Almyran royal procession announced itself with the screech of a wyvern. Two of Garreg Mach’s surveillance guards stumbled into her office to announce as much, and when she followed them into the courtyard and looked to the sky she confirmed it for herself. A large swarm of the great beasts was approaching from the north-east, their lustrous black hides glittering in the sunlight. It was a magnificent sight on the horizon, even if Byleth couldn’t help but think it felt more like a power move conducted by Fodlan’s neighbouring country. 

Seteth’s fingers wrapped around her arm as he gave her a gentle nudge.

“We must prepare for their arrival, Byleth,” He said even as he gazed upwards himself. 

“Of course. We can't let them see the actual mess that we are,” She grimaced as she turned heel and headed back inside, Seteth following closely behind.

“By all accounts this is nothing more than a show of solidarity by Almyra, one that will hopefully foster better relations between our countries,” He conceded as they moved to the throne room, “Still, we must take caution not to show weakness. It would not bode well to have  _ two  _ countries vying for dominance over Fodlan.”

When they entered the room, Byleth’s attendants were already there, waiting with her royal robes. The weight of them as they rested on her shoulders was as heavy as the metaphorical weight Byleth bared every day, and it was only begrudgingly that she wore them for formal events. The robes were clasped shut to hide her rather casual underclothing and she was ushered up to the throne. When she was finally seated a simple circlet was placed upon her head. The attendants continued to fuss around her, stopping for every stray hair and cleaning every smudge of ink from her fingers. Byleth glared at Seteth from the corner of her eyes as he stood beside her in his position as her advisor, and he barely hid the smirk that graced his lips. 

Byleth sat upon her throne, her fingers clenched into its arms to prevent her fidgeting. She avoided sitting in the thing at any opportunity, but knowing who was on the other side of the doors made her feel sick. 

She wasn’t royalty. Regardless of what Seteth said, she wasn’t cut out for this kind of stuff. 

She was about to call the whole thing off and bolt when the guards opened the grand doorway and a procession of Almyrans followed into the room. Byleth turned her head as she took in their richly coloured robes and gold jewellery, her nerves settling behind her intense curiosity for a moment. She knew very little about their culture beyond the stories of barbarism and warmongering that Hilda had recounted to her, but what Cyril had told her about their penchant for fancy dress and gold seemed to ring true. While she had no personal experience to base her beliefs upon, most people she had met did not have positive opinions about the country, but she was determined to go into this meeting with an open mind. So caught up in her own thoughts and curiosity that she barely acknowledged as the foreign procession parted, allowing entry for their sovereign.

Byleth's breath caught in her chest as he entered.

He wore a yellow chlamys draped over his shoulder, and the gold thread glittered spectacularly when he passed each window as he moved. Underneath he wore a dark coloured dalmatica, stained by hand-printed patterns in gold and silver and cinched at the waist by a wide, decorated belt. His pants, loose and drapey, were tucked into his black mid-calf boots that had been polished to the highest of shines. Everything about him was golden, from his clothes to the burnished colour of his skin and the way the light caught his dark hair and turned it auburn. 

He was handsome, there was no point in her pretending to deny it. He possessed a perfectly symmetrical face centred by his patrician nose and a sharp jawline that was emphasized by his well kept facial hair. In one ear, a curious earring glinted in the light, and a braid was kept tucked behind the other. Yet it was his eyes, a vibrant emerald framed by thick, dusky eyelashes that captured her attention the most.

When he was before her, his eyes never left hers when he dipped low in respect.

“Your Majesty,” He crooned, and Byleth had to suppress a shiver that ran down her spine at the sound.

“Shah,” She responded with a dip of her head, trying to remember the rules of etiquette Seteth and the others had tried to drill into her.

The corner of his lips quirked up in amusement, “Not yet, I’m afraid. Claude will suffice.”

“Claude?” Byleth frowned, and before she could check herself she asked the question that had been on her mind ever since she had discovered his name, “That’s not a particularly Almyran name, is it?”

His smile grew, yet even so he evaded her question with a vague remark, “Let’s just say my mother had a funny sense of humour.”

He rose to his feet, and from her seated position, he towered over her. Byleth suppressed the instinct to stand before him and put them on level ground, and her hands clenched harder into the fabric of the throne’s armrests. They had only been acquainted for bare minutes and yet she already felt woefully unprepared for this conversation. Greeting commoners was one thing, and her students had prepared her for dealing with Fodlan’s nobility, but as Claude stared at her with his captivatingly green eyes, she knew this was an entirely different kind of game that she was playing- one that she didn’t know the rules to. 

Handsome though he may be, the closer she looked the more she felt like he was hiding something behind those captivating green eyes of his.

“I’ll admit I was surprised when I was told our audience would be held at Garreg Mach. I understand that the people of Fodlan are particularly devout, but this is a little on the nose, even for me,” He said as he broke the silence in the room, and he gave a sweeping gesture to the chamber.

"Garreg Mach was our base of operations during the civil war," Seteth butted in, reminding Byleth that she was not completely alone, "The central location of the monastery is proving beneficial to us while we work towards reunification until a more permanent location is decided upon, that is."

"A queen without a castle," Claude mused aloud, and Seteth's expression turned sour.

"Her Majesty does not require a palace to be a strong ruler for her people."

Claude's hands lifted up in deference as he looked over at Seteth, "I mean no harm. In fact, I find it quite refreshing. We are quite fond of extravagant palaces in Almyra."

“So I have heard,” Byleth finally spoke, but her voice sounded strange to her own ears, “You also enjoy throwing extravagant parties with great feasts.”

“Been reading up on Almyran culture, have you?” Claude turned back to her, his smile alarmingly bright, “Then you might have heard that it is a tradition to bless the newly coronated with gifts from one’s own region. Your gift was flying by earlier.”

“The wyverns?” 

He nodded, proudly, “Twenty-five of my finest Torodesian Wyverns, unbonded and ready to serve Fodlan’s budding army."

“I- I’m sorry, we didn’t realise we would be exchanging gifts,” She said, turning to look up at Seteth, who shook his head, “We haven’t anything to give you in return.”

Claude took a step closer, so close that the tip of his boots pressed against hers, and reached to take her hand in his. The leather of his glove was rich and smooth, but it was eroded at the crook of his first two fingers.

He was an archer?

“Don’t worry yourself over it, Your Majesty- Byleth, if I may?” He said as he crowded her, to the point that Seteth had begun to step forward to intervene. She brought her other hand up to stay him, and Claude kneeled down on one knee before her like some poor representation of worship.

“Perhaps you can repay me in another way. You see, I have dreams that I wish to see come true, and I think you may be able to help me achieve those dreams,” He continued, his smile becoming less genial and more pointed as he spoke.

“I have a proposal for you, which I think you will find… mutually beneficial.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so a new tale begins, and I think you might be able to guess where this one is heading! 
> 
> For future reference, I'm using pre christian/islamic Persia as my basis for Almyran culture, particularly Achaemenid Empire, with a little Byzantine mixed in. That said, I'm no historian and this is a work of fiction, so if I get anything wrong we'll just call it style. 
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear what you think, and I'm always up for a chat! I've recently just started my own twitter account @Kipsels1 so head over there if you'd like to say hello, I might occasionally post sneak peaks or discuss plot points, who knows?


	2. A Political Ploy

There was a stunned silence in the room as it's occupants registered what the Almyran Prince had said, as though the words spoken were so foreign they were beyond comprehension.

Then, just as quickly as the room fell quiet, the murmurs quickly grew into a cacophony of noise around them.

“Absolutely not! The nerve of you to even suggest such a thing is beyond my own comprehension," Seteth leapt forward, incensed.

“Settle your guard dog, Your Majesty,” Claude said as he stared into her eyes, unperturbed by the commotion around them.

“Guard dog! The insolence.”

“Seteth, let him speak,” Byleth intersected.

“But By- Your Majesty, you must understand that what he is suggesting is exactly what we have been attempting to dismantle,” Seteth turned to her, and she reached over to touch the cuff of his sleeve, “Please don’t tell me you agree with him.”

“No, but he is entitled to say his piece, isn’t he?” She pointed out, looking up into her advisor’s eyes. She could see the concern and fear in them as he stared back, but the pull of his shoulders wilted under her gaze.

“I-... I apologize, Prince Claude,” Seteth groused, his eyes squeezed shut as though the words physically injured him. 

Claude's eyes were bright as he covered her hand with his own, keeping her trapped in his grip as he explained, as he continued as if Seteth had never spoken, "Together, Fodlan and Almyra can become a prosperous alliance, allowing for the free travel of trade and culture. We could set an example for the rest of the world to follow, be at the centre of history."

"I understand that, but…" Byleth tried to interject, but he pushed on.

"By fostering a culture of acceptance, we would be working towards the peace that your country has been fighting for. Isn't that worth the sacrifice?"

Byleth sat in silence, feeling so completely and utterly lost. She had been prepared for negotiations- new trade routes, removal of old alliance territory tariffs, perhaps an agreement of consular activity between the countries. She had not been prepared for this. 

Nothing could have prepared her for this.

"I would be a good husband, kind and just, Byleth," He said softly, and her eyes snapped back to look at him. His eyes were intense as he watched her, like it was a game to see who would crack first.

"Your dreams are admirable, but I cannot accept," She said as she pulled her hand from his grip, yet he held tight.

“Even for the future of your new country?” Claude asked.

Byleth turned to look at Seteth, whose face had grown more pinched as this conversation continued, and repeated the words he had said to her at the dawn of their new kingdom, “We cannot rewrite the future if we repeat the follies of the past.”

Byleth stood from her seat, ready to end this meeting as quickly as possible, ramifications be damned. Claude continued to hold fast to her hand, keeping her attention centred on him even as she tried to pull away.

“You have already offered accommodation for the month, and I would still like to take you up on that offer. Give me the month to prove myself worthy of being your husband,” He asked as he rose to meet her gaze, “For you are the only one worthy of being my queen.”

Byleth stared at him through narrowed eyes. This man would not let up, but he was right. If the Almyrans desired to stay for the month, she was obliged to offer them board. She closed her eyes to her own frustration as she huffed, “Fine. I’ll give you the month to present your case as to why the benefits of our union would outweigh all of the negatives.”

“I will not disappoint you, Byleth.”

. . . .

There had been another attack.

Just off the coast of Nuvelle this time, bigger than any of the previous raids that had occurred, and the first time a death had been recorded. An emergency meeting had been called to relay what information had come in from the knights, but Byleth was starting to feel more helpless as each day passed.

Of course, their meetings amounted to nothing. It was difficult to organise anything within empire territory when much of the land had lost its ruling houses during the war, and trying to foster agreements between villages was nearly impossible. Besides, most commoners were not fighters and the most they could do would be to agree on an evacuation plan.

For once, she wished she could just enjoy the feel of the autumn sun on her face without the worries of the world darkening the horizon. The impulse to reach out and turn time back, to twist it to its greatest extent and return to a time before any of this happened was so strong. 

She wanted to hear her father’s voice one more time, telling her she was doing the right thing. That everything would be okay in the end.

That there would be an end to all this struggle.

She closed her eyes against the brightness of the falling sun and took in deep breaths, trying to centre herself amongst the swirling thoughts inside her head, but even this small respite was cut short. Byleth's thoughts were broken when a voice called out from behind her, and her posture stiffened as she readied for an attack.

"The pirates from Dagda are just the beginning, you know."

She spun on the spot to find the Almyran prince standing some feet away, dressed down and yet still impeccably golden in the warm sunlight of dusk. It had been days since their official meeting, and they have provided the best accommodation to the visiting foreigners, but Byleth had not seen any of them since. Until now. 

"You've been listening, have you? I could have you sentenced to death for espionage," She frowned.

Her words brought a smile to his lips as he took a step closer to her person, "That you could, but I doubt your newborn country could sustain a war coming from both directions if you did."

He was right. Cooperation between the dismantled regions of Fodlan was tentative at best, and the war had gouged into the military numbers on all sides. The Dagdans picking fights along the old empire's coast may have only felt like a nuisance now, but as Shamir had pointed out, they were simply testing the waters before launching a full on attack. If that were to happen, Fodlan could face them, but if they also had to sustain a battle over the throat as well…

Byleth didn't reply, but his smile grew in the absence of her words.

"What will you do when the Dagdan armies break land? Will you have the manpower to fight them? To defeat them?" He probed.

"That's a discussion for my advisors to have, not me and you," She evaded, feeling confident in her words yet barely noticing her own feet moving back with each step he took forward.

"I have that manpower, and those armies would be at your disposal if you accepted my proposal,” He said, taking the opportunity to push his agenda once more. 

"I don't need your men. I fought through one war that nearly destroyed Fodlan and I will fight again if I have to," Byleth growled, as a wrathful pride bubbled up inside her.

Claude's expression flashed of surprise as he stopped approaching, but it was gone before had even settled, “I’ve heard stories of your military prowess. I’ll admit, I had assumed it was your tactical intelligence that won you the war.”

“I’m not the best at tactics,” Byleth brushed him off, “What I am good at is being in the front lines.”

Their feet began to move again, like big cats circling and sizing each other up. Byleth was starting to see the weak points in Claude’s facade, knew that if she felt out of her depths in this situation, perhaps he felt much the same. It just so happened he was better at hiding it away behind his charming smile.

“A girl who rose to power from nothing, that’s what they said,” He mused aloud, “Just an ordinary girl who happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. A mercenary born from a mercenary. In Almyra, stories of you caused quite the stir. The idea that someone could fight their way to the top so completely aligns quite well with our beliefs in strength and prowess.”

“I suppose you are right,” She said non-commitally, her eyes trained on his feet as his pace quickened. 

"And yet there must be more to that.” He said, stopping to turn directly towards her. She could feel the warmth of the waning sun against her back.

“Your people refer to you as a Goddess,” Claude murmured, his eyes scrutinizing every inch of her body.

“I don't believe in Gods"

“Neither did I,” She whispered back.

When she walked away, leaving him alone to his own thoughts on the balcony, she felt his stare follow her like a brand against her skin.

. . . .

“Our best course of action is to travel to Enbarr to meet face to face with Duke Aegir,” Seteth traced his finger down over the map laid out on the table. Red crosses marked the coastline with each new reported attack, which was starting to look like a garish wound. 

When the letter from Ferdinand had arrived, he had agreed to a meeting, but was reluctant to travel all the way to the monastery. Much of his time was spent on redeveloping his ancestral lands, ravaged by war like so much of the country, and any time he could make was from what little he had spare. 

“You’ll need to bring a personal guard with you, of course,” spoke Alois, “Imperial loyalists will have stronger ties in the old capital, so it’s important that we keep you as protected as possible while you’re there.”

The idea of travelling to Enbarr was quite thrilling, even if Byleth didn’t show it outright. Enbarr was a beautiful city, and the idea of taking a moment to step outside the monastery’s boundaries even for matters of state was exciting, but there remained one small problem.

“What of the prince? I can’t just leave without notice, can I?” She asked, looking around the room at her advisors. 

Seteth heaved a great sigh at the mention of the prince and discreetly rolled his eyes, “You’re correct. I’m afraid our relationship with Almyra might already be on rocky grounds after you refused his proposal outright.”

“I didn’t refuse outright, Seteth,” She pointed out.

“No, but I wish you had. Selling yourself into a political marriage for the sake of Fodlan was not something I would ever want you to do. It’s archaic,” He said, his eyebrows pinched.

“I know!” exclaimed Alois, “Why don’t you get him to travel with you? Maybe take him to the opera, hm? Show him just what Fodlan has to offer.”

“Are you suggesting we take the man on a holiday, Alois?” Seteth asked as he bit back a scoff.

“No! I’m simply suggesting we show him something else to gain his favour, because he’s not getting Byleth, that’s for sure!”

“I doubt one performance at the opera will win the man over.”

“Then take him to ten performances at the opera!”

“What kind of budget do you think we have, Alois?”

Byleth drowned out the sound of the two men as their conversation devolved into petty squabbling. Both of their arguments had their merits, and convening in Enbarr wasn’t an opportunity that could be missed just so she could play entertainer to a wayward royal from another country. 

“He flies a wyvern,” She said, abruptly breaking through the rising voices of Seteth and Alois. They both turned to stare at her, confusion written across their faces.

“How does that factor in?” Seteth queried.

“I can’t fly a wyvern to save my life,” She continued, and drew a line direct from Garreg Mach to Enbarr, “All of our flying troops have already been deployed to the coast, and while the Prince’s wyverns are at our disposal, the rest of the knights are mediocre flyers at best.”

“_ But, _travelling by air would cut travel time considerably. Perhaps Claude would be amenable to the disturbance if I can present it as an exercise in trust,” Byleth explained, smiling as she watched their expression change.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It would be a needless risk to place your safety in the hands of that _ stranger _,” Seteth said.

“He’s not out to kill me, he’s trying to marry me,” She pointed out, and took the pause to trace out the most direct path by land, “A procession of knights will be able to take a quicker route without having me to worry about, and they would arrive less than a day later than I would if they are needed to subdue any potential rioting from loyalists. I would have more time to go over our next actions with Ferdinand while also playing to the whims of the prince, without him ever knowing.”

“And if there is an attack before the knights arrive?”

“We have friends in Enbarr, and I have a feeling the prince can hold his own,” Byleth smiled. 

. . . .

The old training grounds of the monastery had always been one of Byleth's favourite places. It was where she helped her students grow into soldiers, and then where they had completed drill after drill in hopes of refining their techniques and avoiding death on the battlefield. To others, it might have sounded strange to think that a place that left more bruises than it did smiles could be somewhere she looked fondly upon, but it was the place that helped her to feel connected to people. In a classroom or in war, she was a figurehead for a future that people looked towards, but in a spar she was simply an opponent to beat.

As it was, governing left little room in her schedule for her own fancies. She appreciated every spare moment Seteth seemed to scrounge from nothing to let her train, but her body had quickly softened once the pressures of war had been replaced by bureaucracy. As tensions grew between Fodlan and its neighbouring countries what time she did have was quickly disappearing. On one side was a country vying for retribution, on the other a country vying for an irrefutable tie through marriage. A war of bodies was just replaced by a war of minds.

When Byleth stepped through the doors, she was surprised to see that the training grounds were already occupied by two men caught in a rather passionate sparring session. They were dressed down to their trousers, their dark skin glistening with sweat as they circled each other, bringing up clouds of dust with their quick footwork. Slinking behind one of the pillars, she watched from the shadows as the crown prince of Almyra ducked and weaved around an older, burlier man - one of his retainers, she remembered from earlier. 

The fight wasn't even fair. The older man swung his axe with great heaving sweeps as Claude duck and spun away every time. The bow and arrow in his hands was useless for close combat, and for every spare moment he gained to tense the string, he lost another by his opponent’s sure footing. It was more aggressive than any of the training she had gone through with her students, a far better representation of the realities of battle than the elegance of a spar, and Byleth found herself transfixed by their movements. 

She watched with anticipation as the other man bellowed out in victory, his upper body swinging forward with the weight of his axe, but in a split instant, Claude had dropped his bow and arrow from his hands and pivoted on the spot, following the path of the axe as he swept underneath and behind his opponent. Before she had even registered what had happened, Claude had the man in a headlock and a dagger pointed at his jugular.

“I win,” He said.

The other man roared with laughter as he patted on Claude’s arm, waiting for his stranglehold to let up. The prince eventually relented, tucking the dagger back into the hidden pocket of his trousers.

“As cunning as ever, my boy,” He said as he turned to face him, giving him a slap on the shoulder that was so forceful it physically moved Claude, though he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

“Well, I had to perform well for our audience,” He conceded, and Byleth felt her whole body freeze as he turned to face her, “Your Majesty, did you enjoy the show?”

There wasn’t much that Byleth remembered from her childhood, but she did remember the feeling of Jeralt catching her hiding when he was discussing plans with his fellow mercenaries late into the night. As she stepped out from the shadows and approached him, she tried not to fall into old habits.

The two men were both fit, with abdominal muscles sculpted for strength and endurance. It was not the first time Byleth had seen men half nude, even if Fodlan nobility could be particularly prudish. Growing up surrounded by mercenaries and ruffians alike meant that she was well acquainted with the male body, so she wasn’t sure why the sight of Claude’s sweat slicked skin made her pulse thrum through her body, leaving her fingers tingling. 

“I did,” She tried to smile as she went over to pick up one of the training swords from the racks, “I’ve never seen a sparring session using underhanded tactics, but I must admit it would be valuable training.”

“I made sure he could fight back, whatever the situation,” The older man said proudly as he dug the blunted blade of his axe into the dirt, with a lilting accent to his voice,“The Shah would have my neck if anything happened to the little princeling.”

Claude rolled his eyes in response as he gestured between them, “Your Majesty, this is Nader. Nader, Her Majesty, Byleth. Nader was my training instructor when I was a child. Now he is one of Almyra’s most awarded generals, and a professional thorn in my side.”

"It's nice to meet you, Nader," She said with a short bow, which left the old man chuckling.

"I think I should be the one bowing for you, my lady."

She shook her hand at him to stop him mid stoop, “It’s fine. I’m not really used to all the formalities anyway.”

“I actually have a proposal for you,” Byleth started, and immediately regretted her choice of words when Claude’s eyebrow quirked up in intrigue.

“Am I going to like it, my Queen?”

“That’s up to you to decide,” She pushed on, ignoring his flyaway flirting, “I need to travel to Enbarr, it’s the old capital city of the Empire. I thought it was unfair to leave you alone in the monastery, and it is a long journey when travelling by land. I'm not a capable flyer myself, so I wanted to ask if you’d like to come.”

Claude’s genial smile split into a grin as he stepped up to her, and his cunning eyes seemed brighter as he took her hand in his, dusty from training and far more familiar than any expensive glove could be, “It would be my pleasure to escort you to Enbarr, if you would have me.”

Byleth quickly tugged her hand out from his and placed it on the pommel of the training sword, “Excellent. Will you be ready to leave in two days time?”

"Of course," He agreed readily, "Nader, I think we have some things to discuss."

He gestured for the general to follow him, but not before he gave her a final flourished bow that left her frowning to herself.

. . . .

A day before they left for Enbarr, Byleth decided to pay a visit to the one student who had never really left the monastery. Having thrown away his noble title and instead dedicating his life to study, at least for the time being, meant that Linhardt was often found somewhere in the library or his own lab, or sleeping somewhere in between. He had taken over Hanneman’s old office for his own experimentations, though Hanneman had stripped it down when he had relocated to Enbarr himself. Even so, the office still smelt like the salty tang of metal and curious magic. 

Byleth knocked lightly on the door before she poked her head in, seeing a sprout of green hair peeking over a stack of books he’d stolen away from the library.

“I don’t know if anyone told you, but we’re travelling to Enbarr tomorrow to convene with Ferdinand,” Byleth said as entered the room and approached the young man’s desk, “Is there anything you’d like me to pick up for you while I’m there? Anything to help with your research?”

Linhardt looked up from his book and frowned at her, looking mildly surprised by her presence, “Yes, I heard. You really needn’t bother checking in on me, but if you’re going to make the effort I’d like for you to pick up a copy of Hanneman’s latest research.”

“You couldn’t send him a letter for it yourself?” She asked with a smile.

“It’s too much effort,” He sighed, “But it might help. If he’s gotten anywhere in his studies on how to apply crestological powers to those without, it might be possible to reverse engineer his theorems to gain the opposite effect.”

Byleth paused her perusal of the books stacked high around him as her mood dropped. She knew how important Linhardt’s research was, but it was also important for her to compartmentalise these things when there were so many other problems that required her focus. Still, thinking of the one student her powers could never help always reminded her that she was still a human, with human emotions. 

“How is she?”

“Fine, all things considered. She’s always rather vague in her letters and I sense she’s not telling me everything, but she’s finding it harder to get up in the mornings,” Linhardt gave a sour smile, “She’s starting to sound like me.”

Byleth tried to straighten the tower of books to distract herself as she replied, “You’ll find an answer, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. It’s just a matter of finding the answer in time,” He sighed again, and Byleth watched his aloof exterior fall away, just that little bit.

“I’ll get you Hanneman’s work, and I’ll see if he can make the trip up to the monastery any time soon. Maybe a lab partner will help.”

“I appreciate it,” He said with a small smile before he stood up and made his way to the chalk board on the wall. Linhardt began to write a new algorithm to match the others scribbled all over the board, though none of it made any sense to her. Still, it did look like some kind of progress. 

"Speaking of crests, your new guest seems to be in possession of one," Linhardt's lofty voice called out.

"The Prince? The Almyrans don't have crests,” She said in surprise.

"Traditionally, yes. I suppose that with the border between the countries so thin, there would be some… cross pollination between citizens. Its likely one of his ancestors was from Fodlan."

"I guess that makes sense, but he's from the royal family. It's one thing for commoners or low lying nobles to do so, but I would think it's unlikely for a king to marry someone from Fodlan,” Byleth pointed out.

"Isn't that exactly what he is trying to do?" Linhard turned to look at her, eyebrows raised and look of exasperation on his face, "Regardless, none of us know how the royal family in Almyra conducts itself. We can't just assume they hold the same Fodlan ideals as we have."

"Who knows? Maybe they travel around the world and pick the prettiest maiden they find, stealing them away," He chuckled to himself, humoured by his own absurd assumptions.

"Do you know which crest he has?" Byleth asked, feeling slightly guilty at her own curiosity.

He shook his head, "No, I would need a blood sample or have access to Hanneman's devices to confirm that, but it's there nonetheless."

“Anyway, don’t you have a country to run or something?” He said, dismissing her with a flick of his wrist.

She shook her head as she walked out of his office, but not before she wished him luck with his research, just as she did every time she visited.

. . . .

It was still early morning when Byleth pulled on her old armour and coat from a bygone era and took the Sword of the Creator from its place above the mantel in her bedroom and belted it to her side. It was a heavy weight against her, one that she had since forgotten, but it felt right to have it there. As an afterthought, she decided to grab the dagger that Jeralt had gifted her when she was younger and take it as well. 

She knew Claude was smart with a dagger, but she could be too when she needed to be.

When she exited her room, she was unsurprised to find Seteth standing by, waiting to escort her out to the wyvern rookery.

“If he tries anything, you have my permission to start a war with Almyra,” Seteth said discreetly, looking over his shoulder for anyone who could be listening.

Byleth grinned up at him, “I’m glad you have enough faith in me to start an all out war, Seteth.”

"Yes, well, I imagine the Almyran royal family would not be impressed if their crown prince returned a eunuch," He responded with a sneaky little smile, causing Byleth to gasp in shock even as her own laughter bubbled over.

"Seteth!"

"What? It was merely a suggestion, if you require any."

As they walked to the rookery, Seteth outlined the travel plans on the knights, who he would be ensuring left in a timely manner. He also assured her that if any other news were to break, he would send a missive to her immediately. Byleth felt especially grateful to the man at times like these, for thinking of all the little things that would have passed her by. She was sure that without him, Fodlan would have already crumbled in her clumsy hands.

Her thoughts were broken by the magnificent sight before her. A white wyvern stood in the middle of the monastery’s rookery, saddled and dressed in gold and red armour. Byleth had never seen a white wyvern before, and she took a pause to take in it’s magnificent silhouette and the way the early sunlight showcased the iridescent gleam of its scales. 

A low whistle came from behind the beast, and the Almyran Prince ducked underneath the wyvern’s neck, a teasing look on his face, “I think I could get used to a view like that.”

Byleth rolled her eyes at him, though her skin felt hot despite the early morning chill. Claude was also dressed for battle, his black army buffed and shiny and perfectly fitted to his body.

“I hope you’re not so easily distracted by my choice of armour, Claude,” She huffed as she walked towards him. 

"I'll try my best," He said with a hand to his heart, "Can't make any guarantees though."

He gave her a wink and that cheeky smile of his that she still couldn’t trust.

Byleth turned back to Seteth, who staring off into the distance as though it hid the fact he had been glaring at the prince not a moment earlier. She gripped his sleeve gently and gave it a tug, redirecting his attention to her. She gave him a small smile.

“I’ll send word when I arrive tonight, just because I know you’ll worry otherwise,” She said quietly, and his sharp look softened slightly as he gave a short nod.

“Thank you,” He murmured, and took her shoulders in his grasp in a gesture Byleth had come to learn was the equivalent of a hug for the man, “I pray that your meeting with Duke Aegir is fruitful.”

“Don’t run the country into the ground while I’m gone,” She teased.

Seteth dropped his hands and stepped back and into a deep bow from his waist, “Your Majesty, safe travels.”

He looked over at Claude and huffed, “And you as well, Prince Claude.”

Seteth made his exit from the rookery, leaving Byleth and Claude alone with his wyvern. 

“Just me and you now, my Queen,” Claude said as he approached her to take her hand and lead her to the saddle. Byleth wasn’t particularly tall, and the climb up to the saddle looked like a hassle.

“Kohinoor, down girl,” Claude called out as he gave a firm pat to the wyvern’s keel, and the beast crouched lower on command. It helped, but not by much.

“Need a boost?”

Byleth felt the warmth of his chest pressed against her back as she reached up towards the saddle, stretching out to her toes to grab the horn and pull herself up. The warmth spread throughout her body and settled as a flush on her cheeks as his hands gave a firm squeeze to her hips when he gave her the boost she needed to swing her leg over. Before she had even settled into the saddle, Claude had climbed up and sat behind her, crowding her to the fine white scales of the wyvern’s neck as he reached for the reigns. 

“You don’t have anything to fear, my Queen. Kohinoor is a real sweetheart, and she’s the gentlest flight I’ve ever experienced.”

“Well, my life is in your hands,” She said with a sigh that ended in a screech as they took to the air. Claude’s laughter rumbled through her very being.

It was going to be a _ long _journey to Enbarr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off to Enbarr we go!
> 
> Some notes and thoughts:  
'Kohinoor' is the name of one of the world's largest cut diamonds, meaning 'Mountain of Light'. I thought it was a pretty appropriate name for Claude's white wyvern.
> 
> Also, there will be sexy times in the future, and I just wanted to plan for the tone you guys would like. Do you prefer it to be more vague and flowery, or hot under the collar descriptive ? Let me know your opinion! (No, they aren't getting it on next chapter)


	3. An Encore for Enbarr

Kohinoor might have been a gentle flyer, but that did not mean riding a wyvern was comfortable. As the hours ticked by and the sun continued its arc in the sky, Byleth found more of her muscles crying out from the strain of holding on. The extension and contraction of her wings moving in great heaving sweeps jostled Byleth over and over again, forcing her back against her companion. The saddle itself had not been designed for two people, and half the discomfort came from that. 

Still, despite having his pick of opportunities to push his agenda every time she rocked back into his chest, Claude was the utmost gentleman, only ever using his hands to hold her steady or adjust her when a sharp turn was made. 

“You didn’t decide to take one of my wyvern’s as your own,” He commented, his voice almost lost to the gusty wind around them, “Should I be offended?”

“No, I’m a terrible flyer,” She called back, and her fingers clawed at the armoured beast as it swooped down further to escape the clouds.

“I could teach you if you like,” Claude offered.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think it would help my fear of heights.”

“I disagree, the best way to tackle your fears is to face them head-on!”

Kohinoor swooped again, deeper this time to catch a tailwind. As the wyvern glided through the air and picked up an immense amount of speed, Byleth couldn’t hold back the undignified squeal from escaping her. 

Claude’s hand reached over from her side and gripped her knee firmly, while his other arm pulled the reins taut, forcing Kohinoor to let up and drop speed just enough. Though she didn’t voice it, Byleth felt awash with relief as they settled into a slightly slower pace.

A small part of her also felt safe in Claude’s half embrace, though Byleth didn’t have time to analyse it.

As they flew over Enbarr, Byleth dared to look over Kohinoor's shoulder and down to the roads below. She watched as people bustled around in the city square markets, and smiled at the small children that chased each other in the school playground. The city itself might have been broken and in need of repair, but it was the people were the living, breathing proof that Fodlan was starting to move forward.

"Where do we land?" Claude called out over her shoulder.

Murvegg was a pretty suburb central to the city where most of the wealthy elite lived, undisturbed by the everyday folk that surrounded them in all other parts of the city. Somewhere among the row houses and estates was the house they would be staying at during their time in Enbarr. Byleth had never visited the manor before, though the deed to it sat in her desk drawer back at Garreg Mach. At the dissolution of the Adrestian Empire, the house had been bequeathed to her as part of their war reparations- a consolation gift when she had outright refused to take up any kind of residency within the imperial palace.

She twisted her body as well as she could while in the wyvern's saddle, though it resulted in her talking directly to the skin of his neck.

"You see the parkland in the centre? There's a gated estate within. It's where we will be staying."

"You'll have to be more specific."

"Land where there’s space, we can walk from there.”

"Yes Ma'am," Claude said as he directed Kohinoor into a descent, Byleth closed her eyes and started to count in her head to distract herself.

Claude’s skills as a flyer were demonstrated by the smooth landing, as Kohinoor dropped her feet to the ground and a shiver ran through her wings before she relaxed them back against her body. He stood and dropped down the side quickly, his arms out as he waited for Byleth’s descent. Byleth swung her leg over and slide off into Claude's arms, who let her down softly. Her legs were sore and tremored like jelly after hours of clenching tight against the saddle. Now that she was back on solid ground she almost groaned out in relief.

"You did very well, Your Majesty," Claude said warmly, "I could make a capable flyer of you yet."

"Don't hedge your bets."

He laughed softly as he stepped around her to Kohinoor's head to stroke the beast's muzzle, "You did well too, Kohinoor. Remind me that I owe you a treat when we return home."

The wyvern grunted loudly in agreement.

When Byleth's legs felt a little more solid, they started off out of the clearing and onto the main road, which was surprisingly quiet for a city. Still, there were enough passers-by to turn and look and whisper as they watched their queen walk by with a stranger and a white wyvern.

The manor house sat at the end of Main Street, grand even among the other gated estates that framed it. The trees were sprouting pastel purple flowers, petals littering the streets as though they were welcoming her entrance. The whole area was a far cry from the crowded inner-city streets of Enbarr, which for all the city’s grandeur could not hide the poverty and squalor that lurked behind every corner. 

Byleth climbed the steps up to the door and reached up to lift the heavy knocker, letting it thud heavily against its metal fitting three times. Almost instantly she could hear someone scurrying about inside, and when the door finally opened it was to a young man bowed so low he was almost prostrated against the floor.

"Y-your Majesty! We weren't expecting you so soon," He squeaked nervously, his voice a pitch higher than it should have been.

"I'm sorry, we didn't have time to send word of my amended travel plans," She apologized, "Is it too much of an issue?"

"N-no! Of course not, Your Majesty, we are always ready to accommodate you at a moment's notice," He shook his head vigorously.

Byleth smiled softly at the young man before she gestured backwards towards Claude and Kohinoor, "I have a guest with me, so another bedroom will need to be made. We also need directions to the estate's rookery."

The servant gestured back through the door, and two more followed out through the main entrance, down towards Claude and Kohinoor, “We’ll take the wyvern from here, Your Majesty.”

Claude seemed a little put off, but he allowed the two men to take Kohinoor off his hands. He gave the wyvern one last pat on the neck as he spoke to it softly in words that Byleth couldn’t understand. 

“Could you take me to the office? I have some letters I need to have delivered,” She asked, and was quickly ushered into the estate. The interior was just as ostentatious as the exterior, with a grand staircase and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There were more doors to more rooms than Byleth could ever have need for and would never explore, but she counted as they went so she could remember the important ones.

When the man opened the door to an airy little office space, with books lining the walls and a chestnut desk by the window, Byleth felt a little more at home.

“Thank you…?”

“O-oh! Pietro, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Pietro,” She smiled, and he bowed deeply as he started to back away to the door. 

“Do you require anything else, Your Majesty?”

“Not right now. I’ll come to find you when I have finished my letters.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Pietro shut the door behind him, and Byleth made a beeline for the desk. She pulled out papers and an inkpot as she prepared to write to Ferdinand and Seteth both to let them know of her safe arrival. 

Claude rested his chin atop his fist as he watched her from across the desk, "So what is on the agenda for this little sojourn?"

"I have a few diplomatic matters to attend to, but I will deal with them in the coming days. I also plan to pay a visit to an old colleague of mine that has set up a private research institute here," Byleth said as she scribbled down a message to Ferdinand, "But, for now, Enbarr is yours to explore."

"Will you come with me? I'd be horribly lonely by myself."

Byleth huffed softly at his simpering, "Yes, I'll come with you. I'm all yours."

"My Queen, I think you're tempting me," He purred.

“You said you wanted to prove yourself to me,” She stated, “Now is your opportunity to do so.”

Claude smiled as he reached out with his free hand, taking her own and running his thumb over her knuckles with a gentle caress. Like a devoted lover, she thought as she looked down at their hands- a lover who could not bear the thought of not touching her for even a moment. 

Claude was an immensely good actor, she thought. 

“So what are the most important sights I need to see in this historic city?” Claude asked, drawing her back out of her own thoughts.

“If you are interested in learning about Fodlan’s dominant religion, some of the oldest churches still in existence are in this city. There’s also a lively arts scene here, so I thought you might enjoy watching an opera performance with me.”

“An opera performance! How exciting,” Claude said, though his enthusiasm sounded false to her own ears, “It would be a good introduction to Fodlan’s cultures. And when we travel together to Almyra, I’ll take you to one of my favourite street theatre shows.”

Byleth smiled demurely and nodded her head, and his eyes almost twinkled as if there was a mental tally in his brain and he was ticking off a point to himself. From what she was starting to understand of Claude, she doubted she was far off with the analogy. 

“You haven’t won me over yet,” She added on, a little too late.

“I know,” He hummed, “But all fortresses have a weak point. I just need to find yours.”

He laughed at her deadpan look, the innuendo not entirely missed. She shooed him off with her hand, and he stood to leave.

“I’ll ask one of the servants what time the opera is on tonight then,” He said as he moved towards the door.

“Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight. I don’t have a moment to lose.”

“We didn’t bring any evening wear with us,” She tried to reason, though it only earned her a scoff.

“I have a feeling there’s a wardrobe somewhere full of dresses perfectly tailored for you,” He opened the door and walked out, “And don’t worry about me. I’m always prepared.”

Byleth sat back in her chair, stunned at the gall of him. She had hoped to have the evening to prepare for her meeting with Ferdinand. Instead, she would spend the night pandering to Claude’s will.

“I’m not made for politics,” She grumbled to herself. If the snickering laugh by the door meant that Claude had heard her, she didn’t even care. 

. . . .

Claude was not wrong. Her bedroom wardrobe was bedecked with the finest gowns she had ever seen, and the handmaids were available at a moments notice to help her dress. She picked out a dark dress, the colouring familiar and safe to her, though the corset was pulled tighter than she liked, pushing her breasts up to the square neckline in a flashy show that was exemplified by the fine ruby jewel the maids place upon her neck. They tittered excitedly as they dressed her, making her feel more like a doll than a human. 

Still, perhaps watching Claude’s subtle double-take as she descended the stairs made it worth it. It only proved that two could definitely play at the same game. 

Not that Claude looked out of place either, in a black three-piece suit and a fine silk cravat tucked in at the neck. He held out the crook of his arm to her as she approached.

“My Queen, your beauty continues to dazzle me,” He schmoozed.

A carriage was already waiting for them, and Claude helped her into it as she tried not to step on her own gown. As they left, Claude pulled out a pamphlet and read it out to her.

“It’s a play about forbidden love between an Adrestian soldier and a Dagdan maiden, how appropriate,” He chuffed as he handed it over to her.

“The Adrestians have a play for everything,” Byleth muttered as she quickly read it through. The name of the lead songstress stood out to her, bringing a smile to her lips. 

“You look happy,” Claude said, sounding a little surprised.

“I am happy.”

The grand opera house in Enbarr looked less grand than when she had first seen it. Its magnificently decorated facade was obstructed by wooden scaffolding and the people who worked meticulously to restore it to its former glory. The music from the practising orchestra that echoed out from the windows was hardly broken. Other nobles gaped as she approached, shocked at the appearance of their own Queen. They parted for her as she walked, bringing a blush to her cheeks as the line for tickets cleared for her. 

They were sat in a private box close to the stage, but for once Byleth appreciated the special treatment she received as the leader of Fodlan. She wanted to enjoy the opera without feeling the stares of others burning through her skin. 

“There’s a party, after the show,” Claude whispered into her ear, making her skin prickle, “Would you like to go?”

“I suppose I should, the nobles already know I’m here, ” She whispered back, causing Claude to chuckle.

“Ever the diplomat, aren’t you?”

“Shhh, it’s about to start.”

As the lights in the room dimmed, Byleth leaned forward, excited to catch a glimpse of her old student and hear her beautiful voice once more.

. . . .

The reception hall was ostentatiously grand. The decoratively painted roof was high above them and a grand chandelier glittered grandly from the centre. A balcony trimmed the entire room, already dotted with nobles escaping the flurry downstairs to simply spectate on the event. Servers weaved their way through the crowds or elegant gowns and stiff suits, their silver platters balanced on perched fingers as grasping hands took flutes of Adrestia’s finest sparkling wines. In the centre, the parquet flooring had been kept clear for dancing and was already filling with richly dressed couples swaying to the music of the quartet. 

As they walked further into the room, Claude’s hand lifted hers into the air between them, cradled delicately in his palm.

“Would you grant me your first dance?” He asked, his smile growing as she rolled her eyes at him but conceded. He led her out onto the floor and turned to her, his hand placed primly on her hip while the other held fast to her hand. 

“You’ll have to forgive my clumsiness,” Claude demurred, “I’m not terribly familiar with Fodlan’s dancing styles.”

“You’re lucky then, because neither am I,” She answered as she stepped on his toe as if to prove her point.

Even as clumsy as they were, they somehow made it work as they circled and swirled across the dancefloor, off-kilter from the rest of the dancers. Byleth could feel the eyes staring at them, taking in their battle hardened Queen dancing with an unknown man, with daggers strapped to their waists. As if the sight of weapons was so foreign to them. It was ridiculous to think that these men and women could dine and dance as if they hadn’t just been funding a war. As if the world outside these walls wasn’t still licking its wounds. 

No, Byleth thought bitterly, those scars were for the commoners to bear. Even as she tried to unify the nation, the nobility simply continued as they always did, cheering on whatever leader they followed now. 

“Careful now, your financiers might start to think you don’t like them,” Claude’s voice crooned close to her ear, and Byleth turned her head to look at him. His hand pulled her in closer, cutting them off from the world around them, even for a moment.

“They can think what they want,” She shrugged and watched as his eyebrow quirked up in curiosity.

“That’s not a particularly courteous thing to say,” He pointed out, “What will you do when they realise that you hold such disdain for them? When they decide to turn on you and usurp your fragile power?”

“I think you overestimate them. The powerful are surprisingly weak when the tides turn against them.”

“What makes you think they won’t abandon ship when the next tide hits then?”

“What tide?”

“The Dagdan’s are right at your door.”

“And these nobles are Adrestians through and through,” She answered surely before his hand lifted hers and he sent her into a twirl. When he drew her back into his arms, she continued on, “They might not like me, but their pride would stop them from ever siding with Dagda.”

Claude hardly seemed convinced, and his mouth was open as he was about to surely refute her in some way but his attention was quickly cast elsewhere. He stared off at a space over her shoulder, and as she turned to follow his gaze she watched the crowds part for the entrance of the Mittlefrank Opera Company's prima songstress. Byleth watched on in mild amusement as Dorothea passed her hand around to every beseeching noble that reached for it, a demure smile on her lips. Ever the actress, even now.

Dorothea looked resplendent in her ruby red frock, her chestnut hair curled and set into gentle waves, but there was a tiredness in her eyes that Byleth could empathise with. She knew that when Dorothea had returned to Enbarr she would rejoin her old opera troop, but the frivolity of acting on stage could not erase the effects of war so easily.

When their eyes caught, she pulled back from the simpering crowds in surprise.

"Professor!" Dorothea called out, trudging her way through the crowds to get to her. Byleth broke from Claude’s loose embrace to face her old student as she approached.

"Professor, I didn't know you would be visiting Enbarr! You should have let me know earlier," She said with a breezy warmth to her voice. Dorothea's gloved hands took hers, and she gave a comforting squeeze, "It's so lovely to see you. You look well!"

"I am well," Byleth agreed with a small smile, "I didn't expect the after-party to be such an event though. The crowds are a bit much."

"They always are,” Dorothea rolled her eyes.

“My Queen, you didn’t tell me you were acquainted with the songstress,” Claude butted in, drawing Dorothea’s attention to him.

Byleth watched as Dorothea’s eyes tracked over Claude’s body, head to toe. He had noticed as well, though like everything her not so subtle looks slid off him like water off a duck’s back. When she had finished her perusal, her sharp eyes flicked back to Byleth, silently asking her a thousand questions.

“She was one of my students, before the war,” Byleth finally replied, “And one of the most talented mages Fodlan has to offer. Dorothea was a vital asset to the war effort.”

“Oh, you flatter me too much,” Dorothea preened as she gave Byleth’s hand a gentle tug, “And who’s your friend?”

“Dorothea, this is Claude. He’s the crown prince of Almyra, and my guest.”

On cue, Claude swept into a bow, and if Dorothea’s hands weren’t already clasped in Byleth’s, she knew he would have kissed them. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Dorothea.”

When he rose from his bow, his hand dropped onto Byleth’s shoulder. She suddenly felt like she was caught in the middle of a posturing match between the two of them, as Dorothea’s hands squeezed a little tighter and Claude’s fingers gripped into her sleeve. The silence was deafening against the rumble of the crowd as she stood there, waiting for one of them to break.

It was Claude who backed away first, his hand lifting as he took a step back. When he turned to look at her, his expression seemed even more forced than usual.

“I’m parched,” He said by means of escape, “I’m going to get myself a drink and leave you two ladies to get reacquainted. Is there anything I can get you, Byleth?”

She shook her head, silent. Claude gave another short, cursory bow before he left to track down one of the waiters somewhere in the crowds. She watched as he weaved through the crowds, making sure he was never out of her sight for more than a second. She firmly believed that he held no ill intent beyond the hands he'd already shown, but there were snakes lurking within these crowds even if Byleth did not know how to spot them. She couldn't let him get poisoned.

Her attention was taken away from him as Dorothea pulled her in, her face inches from her own, “What is the Crown Prince of Almyra doing in _ Fodlan _?”

“He wants to help foster a new age of tolerance and acceptance between our two countries,” Byleth answered vaguely.

Dorothea’s eyebrows rose, clearly unconvinced, “So you decided to take him all the way from Garreg Mach to Enbarr to, what? Show him the sights before you signed a treaty?”

“Not exactly,” Byleth conceded, “Have you talked to Ferdinand recently?”

“Not recently, no.”

Byleth pulled at Dorothea’s hand to guide them away from the depth’s of the crowd while still keeping Claude in her eye line. He had a drink in his hand and he had found someone else to amuse with his antics, if the other man’s raucous laughter was anything to go by.

“There’s been some unrest along the coast lately. Dagdan pirates have been picking fights and raiding fishing villages. I came down to discuss the situation with him, as he has the most sway over these people,” She said in a hushed voice, not wanting to be overheard.

"I see," Dorothea nodded slowly, "But how does the prince fit into this?"

Byleth looked down at Dorothea's slippered feet at she explained, "Claude isn't looking to mend old wounds with just a treaty or new trade routes. He wants something concrete."

"And that is…?"

"He wants to marry me."

Byleth looked up in time to catch the stunned look on Dorothea's face, and she watched as the young woman's eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks as she blinked. Dorothea looked back and forth between Byleth and Claude in the distance, but before long her standard attitude towards political marriages returned.

"Well, if you had to get married for the sake of Fodlan's future, at least he's handsome," Dorothea hummed. She was hardly discrete as her eyes took another pass over him.

"It's certainly unexpected," She mused aloud, "The future king of Almyra wants to heal old wounds with a wedding. Do you think it would work, hypothetically?"

Byleth's mouth turned down as she followed Dorothea's gaze to her companion for the trip. She watched as he laughed heartily with the nobles crowded around him, how his natural charm seemed to draw everyone in. For all the bad blood between the two countries, one wouldn't see it here.

"I suppose it would. It might be a rocky road, but eventually, I think people would develop a greater tolerance for each other."

"So you're considering it?"

"No."

"_ Really _?"

Byleth gave Dorothea a stunted look, and Dorothea looked a little bashful at her own outburst. The singer sighed softly as she conceded, "I know, I know. I only want what's best for you, and I trust you to make that decision. But I have to ask - do you trust him?"

Byleth’s eyes flicked back to Claude once more, catching his own gaze through the crowd. He grinned at her and gave her a flirty wink before he turned back to the ever-growing crowd around him. 

“I don’t know,” She admitted, “But I would like to if I can.”

Dorothea gave her a sympathetic smile, “Well, that’s more than I’ve been able to say about the men who have thrown rings at me in the past.”

“Enough talk about marriage and politics, let’s enjoy the night and have a drink, yes?” Dorothea’s smile grew, and Byleth finally let her friend drag her off into the foray. 

. . . .

The next day, Byleth woke to the bright morning sunlight peeking through the curtains. Her head was heavy from the loud, boisterous evening and what little drink she had consumed, and the clamminess that clung to the air wasn’t helping. Even though the months were crawling towards winter, Enbarr never seemed to be affected like the rest of Fodlan, and the humidity stuck around long after the weather chilled. 

Byleth rolled out of the large bed and stumbled her way up to the curtains and pulled them back, hoping to open them up for some fresh air. Her eyes squeezed shut against the glare of the morning sun and she could already feel the sun heating the glass. 

When she adjusted to the sudden brightness, she opened her eyes and pushed open the window to let in the breeze. An open, grassy courtyard surrounded the property, well-manicured and separating the mansion from the other houses in the area. The perfect landscape was disrupted by a mound not far from a copse of trees, Byleth spotted. She tilted her head as she realised that it was her companion relaxing in the morning sun, blissfully unaware that the world was waking up around him. 

She watched, fighting her own reservations about his person. There was something so completely lackadaisical about him that sometimes made it hard to believe that he could conjure such great hopes and dreams for the future, and if he had, it was even harder to believe that a man that might be hiding any nefarious plans could lie in the grass and just enjoy the early morning warmth.

Yet his eyes were sharp whenever they interacted, even when he feigned a state of relaxation, and there were still shadows in his expressions that Byleth could not decipher. She knew for all his charisma he did not trust her. Which begged the question, why would a man risk everything to bind himself with a woman he barely knew and didn't trust?

A knock to her door broke through her reverie and she let the curtain slip shut once more. When she turned around, the door to her room was already cracked open, and the young servant was peeking through the gap with anxious eyes. She nodded her assent, and he barely stepped into the room before proffering up a letter to her. 

"A message from Duke von Aegir, Your Majesty," He said meekly. She walked over and grabbed it off of him, quickly splitting the wax seal and unfolding it. 

Byleth read over the contents quickly. It would be another day or so before Ferdinand could make the trip to Enbarr, as a squabble had broken out with the local farmers over land distributions. Byleth couldn’t help feeling frustrated - she’d hoped that by flying and arriving sooner, the sooner she could meet with Ferdinand. By the time he arrived, so too would her procession of Serios’ knights from Garreg Mach. 

Byleth looked back to the window, thinking back to the man enjoying his early morning nap outside. At least it would provide another opportunity to pander to his desires and build his trust in her, in hopes that they could make agreements outside of a binding marriage. 

Either way, she hoped he liked books and research because it seemed that a trip to visit Hanneman was in order for today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Merry Christmas!
> 
> This took longer than I wanted it to, but I started a new job and my life became a cycle of working and sleeping. I've settled in now, so hopefully I will find more time to get new chapters out to you all. Still, I hope you enjoyed it! I love reading each and every one of your comments, they make me so happy knowing people like the premise of my story. It really keeps me going!


End file.
